


So Sleeping Fucking Beauty, Right?

by cjmarlowe



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Queer Character, Ensemble Cast, Fairy Tales, Family, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Mental Illness, discussion of suicide, lots of love, parenting, reference to past sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey editorializes the bedtime stories he reads, just like he edits what he says about their lives to everyone else. There aren't any happily ever afters on the South Side. Not ones like that, anyway. They have to write a different story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Sleeping Fucking Beauty, Right?

**Author's Note:**

> About ninety percent of this was written last April before my brain decided to take an abrupt (and probably health-related) writing hiatus for the rest of the year. Thankfully I got a bit of mojo back just in time for the new season to start.

The last thing Mickey wanted was to see that geriatric cock-gargler again, but no amount of up and at 'em was getting Ian out of the house, and if they didn't want to physically plant him in a seat next to the crack babies at the free clinic or drop him off at the psych ward, which wasn't even a fucking _option_ as far as Mickey was concerned, that meant bringing the doctor to him. Lishman wasn't a psychiatrist, but all those rich fucks hung out and drank fucking martinis or whatever together, so of course he knew one who owed him a favor.

Mickey answered more questions than Ian did, since Ian wasn't talking in words longer than a syllable, but once Lishman's friend was assured that Ian wasn't currently suicidal and was capable of eating and wiping his own ass, he prescribed him some fucking pills and told them they could take care of him here but he needed to see Ian again in a few days and he didn't take him away.

He didn't take him away.

"This one's on me," said Lishman, plucking the prescription out of Mickey's hand. Mickey scowled and would've said they didn't need his help if they hadn't _called for his help_ , but he did make a play to get the script back. Lishman shook his head. "I knew he wasn't acting like himself," he said, "and I thought it was just drugs. I should've known."

How was he supposed to know when they hadn't known? Not Mickey and not even the rest of his family. You didn't know until you saw the whole picture, and just because Lishman was a doctor didn't make him better than the rest of them. He wasn't special. But Mickey and Fiona just looked at one another and let Lishman pony up the cash without putting up a fight. They were stubborn, not stupid.

So afterwards Mickey was left with a couple bottles of pills and an invading Gallagher family and an Ian who still only left the bed when he had to take a piss.

"They're gonna take a while," said Lip, reading the bottle like it said anything other than what they'd already been told.

"What's a while?" said Mickey. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. A while."

"What, hours? Days? _Weeks_?"

"I don't _know_ ," said Lip. "Jesus. Monica never took them like she was supposed to so I don't have any kind of, you know, baseline. Maybe days, if we're lucky. To get past the worst of this right now, I mean. The rest, who knows. It's not something that goes away."

"That doesn't sound very fucking lucky to me, Jesus," said Mickey, grabbing himself another beer and slamming it open on the countertop, draining half of it in one gulp. The shrink had said stuff like lucky too. Lucky Ian was so young. Lucky they were treating it so early in his life. Lucky Lishman had a weakness for underage redheads.

"Look, I've got class," said Lip, "and I've already missed too much. Are you going to be all right with him?"

"Am I going to be...? Yes, fuck," said Mickey. "I can take care of Ian. Go."

"Right," said Lip. "I'll be at the dorms tonight but Fiona will be home by six if you need a break."

"I said I'd be fine," said Mickey, just as Yevgeny woke up and started crying. "It's not like I'm going anywhere with that fucking albatross around."

"Oh hey, you actually read? Good to know."

"Shut the fuck up," said Mickey.

Lip gave him a look that pissed Mickey off for no good reason, then nodded his head and slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed out of the house, the last to go.

They were saving a ton of money with Mickey looking after Yevgeny instead of paying someone, since he'd be fucked if he was leaving Ian's side anyway right now, but what the fuck did he know about crying babies? He picked him up and managed to figure out that he hadn't pissed himself and he wasn't hungry, so apparently he was just an attention whore because the only thing making him shut up was Mickey holding him.

"Seriously?" he said. "You think I got time to be sitting around here _holding_ you all day? What the fuck?"

Which Yevgeny had nothing to say about other than to snuffle into Mickey's shoulder, eyes wide open and looking at Mickey like he trusted him completely with his god damn life.

The idea that Mickey himself had once looked at Terry with that kind of naked trust scared the shit out of him.

"All right, fine," he said, "but I'm putting you right back to sleep. I don't have time for this. Where's that fucking book that Mandy bought?"

It was a battered thing, ten cents at Goodwill and full of shitty fairy tales, but Yevgeny fell right to sleep when you read to him and Svetlana got pissed off when Mickey suggested reading from _Guns & Ammo_ or _Penthouse_ Forum, which were a hell of a lot easier to find in this house. Like the kid fucking cared what he was reading, he didn't even speak English yet.

"There it is, fuck," said Mickey, fishing it out from underneath Kenyatta's hoodie while balancing Yevgeny in his arm. The cover almost came right off when he tried to open it one-handed. "We're taking this into the bedroom."

Ian didn't take up much of the bed, curled up against one side and facing the window. Mickey still had the blinds open but the sky was clouding over and the afternoon was wearing on anyway. He should've been at the Alibi, or talking to that friend of Sven-from-juvie's who said he could hook him up with some under-the-table bouncer work. He didn't give a fuck about any of that, though, not when Ian was here.

"Listen up, motherfucker," said Mickey, "if I have to look after this kid, so do you, and I don't give a fuck if you can't even lift your head right now. We're doing this together."

He sat cross-legged on the bed, planting Yevgeny in the empty spot so he didn't have to touch him and holding the book open with his knee. Ian moved just a little, shifted so that the blanket fell below his ear even if he was still facing away. It was something, but Mickey couldn't help but feel a pang that Ian apparently _could_ talk, he just chose not to if he didn't absolutely have to.

Mickey wasn't much of a reader, but it was a kids' book. How hard could it be? "Bullshit...bullshit...bullshit...okay, how about this. The cockerel and the weathercock. Anything with that much cock can't be all bad, right?" He didn't know what the fuck was a cockerel was, but the picture was of a rooster. "Why can't they just call it a cock? Kids like short words."

Yevgeny made a sound that was probably an air bubble but that Mickey took as agreement.

"Okay, so on top of the farmhouse there was this metal cock that showed the way the wind was blowing, because apparently that's what cocks do in this fairy world." Ian made a sound that time, that Mickey chose to believe meant he was actually listening. He nudged him a little with his foot, just to let him know he noticed. "The weathercock, high above the other animals, was in a very good position to crow, but he never made a sound. Well, yeah, because he was fucking _metal_. Jesus, what's wrong with these people?"

Yevgeny's eyes were closed but Mickey knew sleeping breathing from waking breathing and that definitely was not sleeping breathing yet, assuming babies were like real people.

"The farmyard cock, on the other hand, was proud of his red crest and his loud cock-a-doodle-doos. In fact, he liked boasting so much to the hens and the little chickens that he sometimes told very big lies. Like about how big of a _cock_ he is." Yevgeny didn't seem particularly impressed. "Whatever. You'll get it when you're older.

"So he told the hens that cocks can lay eggs too, only they only lay one egg their whole lives and the egg holds a dragon, not a chicken. You hear that, Ian? You're gonna knock me up with a fire-breather one of these days."

He hoped he'd get some kind of reaction out of Ian for that one, but not so much as a twitch. 

"So the cock insists that humans are terrified of them and that cocks are the real masters of the world. Well, he's not wrong about that. And the metal cock on the roof was listening the whole time and just snorted, because he's not an idiot. He'd seen so much and heard so much bullshit in his long life that nothing surprised him anymore. He knew the cock's boasts were nothing but hot air, but he felt so superior that he did not bother to contradict him. Like a pussy. And, in the end, whether the real cock or the metal cock was more important is a difficult question."

Mickey frowned and turned the page, then turned it back again.

"What the fuck? That's it? That wasn't an ending. That wasn't even a _story_. Did that make any fucking sense to you, Ian?"

Ian didn't answer, but he did shift his position a little. Yevgeny didn't answer because he was asleep.

"You don't even give a fuck, do you?" said Mickey, poking the baby in the side a little just to make sure he was sleeping. He made little lip motions, like he was dreaming of sucking tits, but he didn't open his eyes.

Neither did Ian.

"Debbie's coming by tomorrow before school," said Mickey, reaching out and touching his hair. "That kid does not take no for an answer, does she?" Ian mumbled something inaudible. "Try to be nice to her, would you? Otherwise she'll be hounding me all the time about how you're doing."

"Whatever," said Ian, and pressed his face into the pillow, wrapping his arm around it for good measure.

"Bedtime for you too, huh?" said Mickey, looking at Ian and then looking out the window, where it was still light. But sleeping was better than a lot of other things. "Well, I hope you enjoyed your story."

He left the curtains open when he got up and hauled Yevgeny off to his crib, pulling the blankets up to his chin and staring at him for a minute. He still didn't feel like the kid was _his_ , like he had anything to do with him. He should never have existed in the first place. But there he was, a real shitting, pissing, screaming baby.

He turned the TV on low to avoid waking either one of them, and sat there on the couch until he heard someone get home. Could've been an hour. Could've been four. Hard to say, except that it was dark outside now and the baby hadn't woken up yet.

"Good, you are still here," said Svetlana, dropping her coat on the sofa next to him.

"Where the fuck else would I be?"

"Gone," she said. "Fucked off."

"Where the fuck would I even go?" said Mickey, and looked over his shoulder like he could see inside the bedroom from there.

"Baby is sleeping," she said, leaning over into the crib and touching his forehead gently. Mickey didn't know what to say to that, not to what she said but to the way she was looking at him. "It was terrible, how we got him. It was terrible thing, for you and for me."

"But that's not his fault," said Mickey before Svetlana could. He didn't want to fucking talk about that. Ever. "I know, all right? You said what you wanted to say, just leave it."

"And we never tell him," she said, fiercely. "Never."

"What? No way, I can't promise what I will or won't tell him when he grows up."

"As little child," said Svetlana. "We never tell him. We never use that."

Never use it as a weapon, she meant. Never tell Yevgeny that he was a fucking rape baby. Mickey could imagine having that conversation with him when he was older, because the kid was going to grow up knowing the people who did it, knowing all the shitty people in the neighborhood. But he was going to have a chance to get to know the good ones too, if he grew up here, so when he was older he'd probably understand all the...all the fucking nuances of the situation. But not as a kid.

It was then Mickey realized he was thinking about a future with the thing, for the first time.

"No," he agreed. "We'll never fucking do that to him." Because it was the exact kind of thing Terry would have done, and if there was one thing Mickey knew it was that he never wanted to be his father.

"Good," said Svetlana. "I take him now. You go to your carrot boy."

"His name's Ian."

"I know his name," said Svetlana, picking up Yevgeny and holding him to her chest. "Zhenya is hungry."

"You can't fucking call him Zhenya," said Mickey. "What, you want him to get the shit kicked out of him? At least call him fucking Geno, like the hockey player."

"Fuck you," said Svetlana. "You go to your boy now."

"All right, all right," said Mickey, pushing himself up and kicking someone's shirt out of his way. "You don't gotta tell me twice."

It was too early to go to bed but Mickey got in anyway, lying on his back and listening to Ian breathing for a long time while he stared at the ceiling and counted water stains. When he finally rolled over and put his arm around Ian, Ian didn't shake him off so Mickey figured it was okay.

He didn't sleep well, but every time he woke up Ian was still in his arms, and for just a few moments he could forget about everything else.

Mickey was actually asleep for real when Mandy knocked on the bedroom door in the morning. "Get your ass up, Mickey, Debbie Gallagher is here."

He rubbed his eyes with one hand and went to wake Ian, only to find him already awake and staring at the curtains. "Your sister's here."

Ian did little more than blink at the news.

"I'm going to let her in."

"Don't."

"I have to," said Mickey, even though he _wanted_ to give Ian what he wanted. He really did. "She's on her way to school. She won't stay long."

"Mickey," said Ian, reaching out and grabbing his forearm before he could get up. 

"What?"

"I can't," he said, and let go like he'd just used up every bit of energy he had.

"You don't have to do anything, just let her see that you're alive, okay?" said Mickey. "Just let her see that you're okay."

Ian didn't answer again, and Mickey touched his hair gently then got out of bed to open the bedroom door.

"Did you give him his meds?" she demanded as soon as he was face to face with her.

"Jesus, we just woke up, I haven't had a chance yet," said Mickey, rubbing his eyes again.

"It's important to get him on a regular schedule," said Debbie. " _Promise_ me you'll give them to him as soon as you can."

"Are you giving me orders, half-pint?"

" _Promise me_."

"Yeah, yeah, I promise," said Mickey, opening the door further and standing inside. "Are you coming in or not."

"It's important," she said one more time before dropping her bag at the door and climbing onto the bed with Ian, coat and all, right in the spot that Mickey had just abandoned. "Hi, Ian."

"I'm tired, Debs," he said, but even that much seemed to make her happier. Just the sound of his voice, saying her name.

"Fiona's got a new job," she said after a moment. "Full time. So she's probably not going to go on a bender again."

"S'good," said Ian.

Mickey didn't move from the doorway, leaning against the doorframe to watch them. She didn't ask for privacy, but even if she had he wasn't sure he would've given it to her. If anything changed, he wanted to _be_ there for it. 

"Lip's going to be sleeping at the house for the rest of the week," she went on. "He says it's to make sure that Fiona stays on track, but I think it's because he wants to be closer to you." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "You know we all love you, right?"

There was a pause, then Ian said, "Should go t'school, Debs."

"You should go back to school too," she said. "When you're better, I mean. Not tomorrow." When Ian didn't reply, she just kept going. "But we can talk about that later. I'll be back, okay? I'll come see you again."

"Sure," said Ian, and Debbie hesitated a few moments before realizing that was all she was going to get, and getting off the bed much more slowly than she got on it.

"Satisfied?"

"Make sure he takes his meds," she said again, and grabbed her bag and found her own way out of the house before Mickey could offer. Not that he was going to. She barged her way in, she could let herself out again.

He watched Ian for a little while, then sighed and wandered into the kitchen to find some fucking coffee. He was going to have to get Mandy to get another can of it; he had a feeling he was going to be going through a fuckton of coffee in the next little while.

While Mandy banged around in her room doing whatever the fuck she did in there, Mickey checked on Ian one more time, then sat down in front of the television and braced his foot against the coffee table and watched some stupid shit as people came and went from the house, slamming the door and kicking shit around and acting like the whole fucking world hadn't just changed.

"Come on, faggot, we've got a job," said Joey, tossing a shoe at his head.

"What the fuck?" said Mickey, grabbing the shoe and throwing it back, out of reflex.

"Collection," said Joey. "Get your bat."

"How about I get my fucking gun and use it on your ass, _Colin_?"

"Don't fucking call me that," he said, scowling at him. Last time someone called him Colin in public, he broke their wrist; only his mother got away with using his first name unscathed. "You're the one who likes things shooting into your ass."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, you looking for a beatdown, is that what this is?"

"Uncle Johnny's waiting for us," he said, blowing it off. "Hurry the fuck up."

"I can't—"

"A hundred bucks apiece, what the fuck do you mean you can't?" said Joey. "Tony's still got fourteen months on his sentence, so you gotta."

"I'm busy," said Mickey. "Fuck. Call up a couple of cousins."

"Busy what, watching some dude sleep in your bed?" said Joey. "Sack up, Mickey. A hundred bucks."

"You'll be back before I even finish making lunch, Jesus," said Mandy. "Just go."

There was a part of Mickey that was still waiting for this to be an ambush, that was still expecting his brothers to take him out back and beat him with a tire iron. But they weren't smart enough to make up a plausible story to lure him outside, they'd just haul him out and beat on him, or they wouldn't even bother to haul him outside at all.

"Get your faggot ass out here," said Joey. "Let's roll."

"Fine, fuck, I'm coming," said Mickey, disappearing back into his bedroom to find some halfway clean clothes and to lean in over Ian again. "I gotta go do a thing," he said, "but I'll be right back."

Ian didn't say anything, but his eyes did flick over to meet Mickey's, and that would have to be enough.

It was actually kind of satisfying, kneecapping a guy. Maybe Mickey had some aggressions he needed to get out. Maybe he felt like he had to prove something to his brothers, that him banging Ian didn't change anything. Probably both. Who the fuck cared. End result, he got to beat the shit out of some deadbeat and everyone got paid. 

When he got home he took his share of the cash and stashed it in a soda can in his bottom dresser drawer, under whatever other clothes he'd shoved in there the last time he'd tidied up. He figured he was going to be needing it sooner or later, for something other than keeping the house going. Lishman wasn't gonna pony up forever.

"I go to work now," said Svetlana. "You take Zhenya."

"His name is fucking Geno," said Mickey, but he still took the baby out of her arms and actually held him for a few minutes. Nobody was going to make him leave the house again if he had a baby in his arms. "Fine. He'll watch DVDs with me."

"Put on some Disney shit, he'll like that."

"Oh fuck that," said Mickey. "He doesn't care. He's not even going to remember it."

"I come home late tonight," she said. "Me and the girls, we go out."

"What the fuck, you spend the day jerking cocks and then you go out looking for more?"

"Out with the girls," she said again, whatever that meant. Out with the girls or out with _her_ girl. Either way, it left him alone with the kid. "I see you tomorrow."

"Hey, I said I would watch him while you were working, not all this other shit."

"Zhenya is your son too," she said, and left before Mickey could even argue. He looked down at Yevgeny, who really wasn't going to remember any of this, and sighed.

"If you piss yourself, you're sitting in it for a while because I'm going to get comfortable," he said, but before he did he popped in on Ian one more time.

"You good?"

"Leave me alone," said Ian.

"All right," said Mickey. Even if he knew he wasn't supposed to take that personally, it was kind of hard not to. At least his kid wasn't talking back yet. "I was serious about that pissing thing," he said to Yevgeny as he slouched down on the couch with the kid on his chest, rummaging for the remote. "And don't piss on me, either."

Mickey said he didn't do diapers, but he _could_ , if he had to. He wasn't an idiot; he could figure out what to do with them. But they weren't supposed to be his problem. He was never supposed to have a life with a kid in it, especially not _this_ kid. But he could look at him now and sometimes, for a few minutes, _not_ think about where he came from, not feel sick, so maybe he could do this. Maybe _they_ could do this.

There was only so long he could take holding him, though, so it wasn't long before he planted him back in the crib next to him.

He guessed they both fell asleep sometime in the middle of that show about the sharks because when he woke up Yevgeny wasn't there anymore and it took him a few minutes of clearing his foggy brain and then actually getting up and looking around before he found him in the kitchen with Mandy.

Well, whatever, better her than him. He went to see Ian but Ian told him to fuck off again so he sat back down on the couch and turned on the XBOX and pretty much stayed there the rest of the day.

Blowing shit up on a screen wasn't quite as satisfying and drawing blood on the street, but it was better than nothing.

When it was dark and everyone was gone, when Mandy and Svetlana and Kenyatta were at work and his brothers were out getting fucking high somewhere or robbing a liquor store or whatever the fuck they had planned for the night, when the place was quiet again and they were alone, Mickey hoisted Yevgeny out of his crib and found his storybook and a bottle of vodka and headed into the bedroom.

"I found the perfect story for tonight," he said, settling a squirming Yevgeny on the bed. "I even got fucking visual aids."

Yevgeny grabbed for the bottle, which Mickey immediately pulled out of reach. If he could do it with his brothers, he could do it with an infant.

"We're reading The Spirit in the Bottle," he said. Yevgeny gurgled. "Whatever. You'll get it when you're older."

When he couldn't get the bottle, Yevgeny made a play for the book, but it was already firmly under Mickey's knee, even though that was tearing the binding even more than it was already. He glanced over at Ian, who was curled up by the edge of the bed again. No big change there.

"All right," he started, after taking a healthy swig of the vodka, "so this student was walking in the woods when he heard someone calling to him. He looked all over the place, but he couldn't see anyone. Okay, I'm gonna stop right here. If you ever go walking in some woods, if you ever even _find_ some woods, and you hear someone calling to you? You get the fuck out of there. That's bad news."

Yevgeny wasn't even making babble noises yet, but he did slap Mickey's arm with his weak little baby hand, which was kind of an answer.

"But because this student is a dumbass, here's what happens. The voice called out again, and appeared to come from the roots of a giant oak tree. Where he found a bottle, in which there was a tiny man who begged him to let him out. Okay, I never realized how creepy this shit is."

"Not all creepy," mumbled Ian, without opening his eyes.

"They are so far," said Mickey. "So the dumbass student uncorks the bottle and a cloud of smoke comes out and grows into a scary giant, who probably sounds like Robin Williams. 'I'm a genie,' he says, 'and I was imprisoned in the bottle by a magician, but now that I'm free, prepare to meet your end!' See, that's exactly the shit that happens when you go _towards_ the voices in the woods. That, or someone will fucking molest you."

"Fuck, Mickey."

Mickey reached out and touched Ian's hair, even though he didn't expect any kind of fond reaction to that anymore. At least he was getting actual words.

"So the guy says, 'Wait a minute, I don't believe a word of that. A giant your size couldn't've come out of that bottle. You could never get into it.' See, that's the shit everyone should say when they see something like that, if they're stupid enough to be there in the first place. So anyway, 'Of course I can,' said the genie, 'I'll prove it to you.' And as soon as he got back in the bottle, the guy corked the thing.

"The next time he wanted to get free, the genie had to make a bargain: he wouldn't kill the guy _and_ he'd give him a dagger which turned everything it touched into gold and healed all wounds. What the fuck, isn't a dagger supposed to stab things? And afterwards, thanks to the dagger, the student became a rich and famous doctor.

"Okay, that's bullshit. They should have ended the story the minute he corked that fucker back up and threw him back under the tree. Nice scamming of that genie and the rest of the world, though. Magic fucking dagger, man."

Yevgeny wasn't entirely asleep yet, but he was looking drowsy and so, after staring at him for a long time and working himself up to it, Mickey picked him up and swayed him back and forth a little and hummed something that wasn't even a song, mostly just white noise.

It seemed to be working on Ian, too, though that was harder to tell. His eyes were closed anyway, his breathing slow. Mickey was getting used to listening to his breathing, just to make sure that he still was.

"Don't go fucking expecting that every day," said Mickey. To Yevgeny anyway; for Ian he'd do it every day. "I just wanted to make sure you let everyone else get some sleep tonight."

Yevgeny still woke him up three times during the night, two diaper changes and a bottle. Ian didn't wake him up once. He heard Svetlana get home sometime around three and finally got a solid few hours when she—or someone—took over, his hand loosely around Ian's wrist the whole time.

It was noisy when he woke up, noisy like he hadn't heard the place in a while, TV blaring and people arguing in the kitchen and Yevgeny wailing until Svetlana let him suck on a tit for a little while. The bedroom door was closed even though he hadn't gone to bed that way, because there were no fucking baby monitors in the Milkovich house and he had to listen for wailing the old fashioned way.

When he saw Ian was still sleeping he lay there for a few minutes just staring at him, then pushed himself out of bed and fixed the covers before heading out of the room.

"There any fucking breakfast?"

"Breakfast, what the fuck are you talking about, it's lunchtime," said Iggy, around a mouthful of something sticky and gross.

"Shit," he said, and looked at a clock for the first time.

"It's about fucking time," said Mandy then, when Iggy pushed his way out of the kitchen and back down the hall, "How's Ian?"

"The same," said Mickey, grabbing the half-loaf of bread and slapping some slices down on the countertop. "I guess. He's sleeping."

"Were you guys up late or something?"

"Fucking Geno," said Mickey. "He kept wanting shit."

"Yeah, well that's what babies _do_ ," said Mandy. "Jesus, Mickey, what did that bread ever do to you?"

"What, I'm making sandwiches?" he said, slamming some meat on.

"Yeah, maybe if you call a mangled handful of bread and cheese a sandwich," said Mandy.

"Whatever," said Mickey. "I'm hungry, and Ian won't care." Ian probably wouldn't even notice.

"At least feed him something that _looks_ edible."

"Bite me," said Mickey, but he did arrange the one sandwich a little more nicely than the other before piling them on the plate and heading back into the bedroom. "Later, bitches."

Ian was still asleep, so Mickey left the sandwich next to his drink of water and ate his own while sitting on the end of the bed and staring at his wall. There were a few things he needed to get done that killed some time, but it still felt like a really long time, punctuated by shouts and crying and general mayhem outside the bedroom, before Ian started moving.

"About fucking time, Princess," he said, looking back over his shoulder at him. "There's a sandwich if you're hungry." Ian kind of half groaned and half yawned and just pulled the covers up higher. "You know what I really miss?" Mickey went on. "Fucking. You think you might be up for fucking later?" Ian didn't answer. "All right. Whatever. Eat your fucking sandwich."

He left his own handful of crumbs on top of the dresser and crawled onto the bed, resting on his side and propping his head up on one arm.

"I called the Fairy Tail," he said. "Told them you had mono. How many of those fuckheads you make out with before I caught up with you, anyway? They sounded real worried about it spreading."

"All of 'em," mumbled Ian, which Mickey knew enough to grin at.

"Makin' a joke, that's good," he said. "Now eat that sandwich or I'm going to feed you some of Geno's mashed peas, and let me tell you, those things look _disgusting_."

"Not hungry," said Ian.

"Yeah, I know you're not hungry," said Mickey. "Eat something anyway."

"Later," said Ian, which probably meant never.

"Look, you gotta eat," said Mickey. "You don't have to like it, but you have to eat. You want something else? I can make you something else."

"Please, just go," said Ian.

"I will," said Mickey, "as soon as you eat something. Okay? It's just a sandwich."

"I'm not fucking hungry," said Ian. He gave the plate a shove which nearly, but didn't quite, send it tumbling to the floor.

"Fine, whatever," said Mickey. "I'll leave it for now." A person could go without eating for a while, he knew that as well as anyone. It was worse that he didn't want to eat than that he skipped a few meals. "I'll be in front of the fucking television if you need anything. If you remember how to find anything outside of this room."

It was meaner than he meant to be, but Ian didn't even flinch.

He still hesitated before actually leaving. "Sorry," he said finally, struggling a little with the word. "I didn't mean it."

Ian just pulled the covers up, and Mickey sighed and left and realized as he sat down that he fucking hated being in this house all the time. Even when Terry wasn't there, everything in the place reminded Mickey of him. But it wasn't just that. Mickey'd lived with that shit his whole life. It was that him and Ian, they should've been out doing stuff. Together. And it wasn't fucking fair that they weren't.

Mickey was used to shit not being fair, but he'd fought really hard for this thing with Ian and now look where they were. And what was he even supposed to do about it? It pissed Ian off when Mickey was there bugging him, but what if, when Mickey was gone, he was just lying there waiting for him to come back. 

That shit haunted him all the time, no matter what else he was doing. He couldn't concentrate on the movie, he kept getting his ass kicked when he tried to play something. He even picked up a fucking book before he figured out that was the worst idea of the bunch. No, the worst idea was standing in the doorway staring at Ian. Problem was, it was also the best idea.

People had come by looking for his brothers all afternoon, so Mickey ignored the banging at the door until one of them got off their asses to get it themselves.

"Another fucking Gallagher's here," called Joey, though.

"Let them in," Mickey called back, and wondered which fucking one it was this time. Clock said it was after five, so it could've been any one of them. Maybe it was the toddler this time.

"Hey," said Lip, when Joey finally let him by. "Don't get up, I know where to find him."

"What, you're just going to walk into my room?"

"You'd rather I hung out here with you for a while first?" 

"You don't need to be here at all," said Mickey. "I can take care of him."

"Can you?" said Lip, halting right there to throw it back in his face. "You didn't even know what this was. We've been there. We've seen all this before."

"No, you haven't," said Mickey. "This is _Ian_ , you haven't seen _any_ of this before. It's not the same thing."

"Yeah, well it's close enough," said Lip. He was looking at the hallway and not at Mickey, but at least he wasn't just fucking barging in. "You don't know him like we know him."

"Fuck you, I lo—" said Mickey, then bit his god damn tongue. "I take care of him."

"Yeah, Frank loves Monica too," said Lip, like Mickey had actually said it, like he fucking knew _anything_. "It's not enough."

"We're not Frank and Monica," said Mickey. "He saw a doctor. He's taking his meds. I'm not keeping him here trying to, I don't know, screw him better."

"Jesus, Mickey."

"You don't want to hear stupid shit, then don't fucking question whether or not I can do this."

"He up, at least?" 

"Last time I checked," said Mickey. "Just lying there like the world is ending."

"Yeah, he sounds like he's doing great," muttered Lip. "I'm going in to see him now."

"Fine. Get him to eat something."

"He's not eating?"

"He _sound_ like he's eating?" said Mickey. "I left him a sandwich."

"I've got, uh, half a candy bar and a couple of mint toothpicks," said Lip, turning out his pocket. "Sandwich is probably the best offer he's gonna get."

"I'll take that Snickers, though," said Mickey, and was surprised when Lip tossed it at him before disappearing down the hall. He picked off the pocket lint and ate it, trying to take his time so he didn't just barge in on Lip and Ian like he wanted to. It was his bedroom, he could do what he wanted. But it wasn't about him or about Lip, it was about Ian, and he had a feeling Ian wanted this time too, he just had a hard time showing it.

The next commercial break he got up and joined them in the doorway, just in time to see Ian shrugging Lip's hand off his shoulder. He didn't feel as vindicated as he thought he would.

"All right," said Lip. "Fine. I don't want to fight you on this. I don't want to _fight_ , Ian."

The sandwich was still untouched, and Ian had turned to face away from his brother. That meant Mickey could see his face pretty clearly and it wasn't angry, it wasn't hurt, it was just _lost_ and _desperate_ and he wished more than anything that he actually knew what the fuck to do about that because nothing he was doing so far was working.

He left again, went into the kitchen and dug around the cupboards until he found a butterscotch pudding, the last one and probably from Mandy's stash but she would forgive him.

"Here," he said, bringing it and a spoon back into the bedroom. "How about this? Will you eat this?"

Ian closed his eyes and shook his head and Mickey wasn't going to force feed him or anything, but once Lip was gone he was going to open it up and fucking spoon feed it to him until Ian opened up and took it. He had to do something.

"Worth a shot," said Lip, reaching out to Ian one more time but withdrawing his hand again before it made contact. "All right, Ian. Whenever you're ready. And remember, if you ever want to come home—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Mickey interrupted him.

"I'm telling him he can always come back to his own house if he wants to."

"What, this isn't good enough for him?"

"He has a home, Mickey," said Lip. "I'm just reminding him about that."

"Well he has a home here, too," said Mickey. "And a private bedroom, which is more than he has over there."

"Why do you think no one's argued with you about this so far?" Mickey hadn't thought about why, he didn't care why, he just cared that Ian was here.

"Yeah, so let's keep on not arguing," snapped Mickey. "He stays here."

"He has a choice," said Lip. "I'm letting him make it."

"Well, he's made it," said Mickey. If not getting up out of the bed and following Lip out of the house was making it. "You done?"

"For now," said Lip, hesitating for a moment before leaving Ian's side and joining Mickey at the door. "Do we really need to do this? Fight about this?"

"Then don't fucking fight me on it," said Mickey. 

Lip looked back over his shoulder and nodded. "He just needs to know he has choices, Mickey," said Lip. "Everyone's telling him what to fucking do. He just needs choices."

"I'm still feeding him that pudding."

"You know that's not what I meant," said Lip. "Eating isn't one of those choices. Eventually it's not optional."

"Right," said Mickey, and crossed his arms and just looked Ian in the face, even though for all he could tell Ian wasn't even acknowledging they were there anymore.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Lip, before finally going. Mickey wasn't sure whether he was talking to Ian or him. Didn't really matter; right now one came with the other.

He stood in the doorway a little longer, then moved in closer to the bed. "Ian?" he said. He didn't get a reaction, but he kept going anyway. "Are you choosing to stay here?"

There was a long silence, then a quiet, "Yeah."

"Okay, good," said Mickey. "You going back to sleep?" Ian didn't answer again, but he did close his eyes. "All right. I'm gonna do some stuff."

Some stuff mostly meant making sure the bills were paid and stashing a little extra money where he found it, which wasn't much. He wasn't a fucking housekeeper, but he wouldn't have those Gallaghers judging him every time they came to see Ian so he picked up a little before parking himself back on the couch and shooting the shit out of a bunch of fucking zombies like that was going to fix anything.

He just had to keep _doing_ something, because he'd never felt more fucking useless in his entire life.

When Svetlana left Yevgeny with him he didn't even bitch about it; getting him to bed was kind of a ritual now, and everyone kept telling him that Ian needed a routine. Well, however it happened, this was it now.

"Bedtime for little Milkoviches," said Mickey, settling down on the bed with Yevgeny again. He ended up leaning back against Mickey's leg instead of off in his own little bubble on the other side of the bed, and after a moment of staring, Mickey let him this time. "You got any preferences, Ian?"

"Don't," said Ian, softly, and Mickey touched his shoulder and didn't try to make him answer anything else.

"All right, we'll find something," he said. "Whatever. Two-hundred and sixty-six fairy tales, there's got to be _something_ that doesn't suck in here. And why two hundred and sixty-six, anyway? That number make any sense to you?"

Ian might've shrugged. Mickey kept scanning through the titles.

"He told no lies?" he said finally, picking one out. "That _is_ a fucking fairy tale."

He knew it was just a fantasy, just a fairy tale, but of everything he read that was the hardest thing to swallow. Everybody lied. Everybody. And some days he was King Liar of them all. 

"I'll tell you the truth about one thing," he said, and made sure Ian knew he was talking to him. "We're gonna make it through this, you got that?"

"I hear you," said Ian, which wasn't the same thing but it was something.

"All right, get comfortable," said Mickey, flipping through to the right page. "So there was this farmer who had this younger brother, who had the bad luck to be in love with the daughter of a duke. Seriously, do these people have no _actual_ problems? How the hell does someone even _meet_ a duke?

"Her father was so mean that he would never agree to give her hand in marriage to anyone who wasn't rich, so the older brother decided to do something to help. Jesus, I guess some things never change, huh? If you aren't rich, you're nothing.

"He made his brother put on his oldest suit, which was patched with dozens of pieces of cloth, then he got him to sit beside the fireplace, where there was a roof, then he put a bowl on his lap and gave him two gold coins which he was to pass from one hand to the other, then into the bowl, then round again.

"When the brother talked to the duke, then, the duke asked him how his brother was for money, and he said that money was passing through his hands all the time. And when the duke asked about the house, he said that his brother had a sound roof over his head. And finally, when he asked about his wardrobe, the brother said that he had far more pieces of cloth to wear than he had.

"The duke was impressed, and the wedding was quickly arranged.

"You know what the moral of that story is? The moral is that the duke _never would have known_ if he'd lied about it, so what was the point of all that stuff? You're not _better_ if you don't tell a lie when you're putting something over on someone anyway. What, does he think he's going to get a prize or something?

"People get hung up on the stupidest shit." Yevgeny had sprawled out on his stomach, arms and legs askew, fast asleep. "Jesus, I really _could_ read you anything and you'd fall asleep, wouldn't you?"

He seemed fine where he was for now. Mickey would move him when he felt like it, which wasn't right this second. Instead he stretched out on his other side, trapping Yevgeny in the space between his body and Ian's, and watched the both of them.

"It wasn't supposed to go like this," he said finally. "But then when do we get to choose anyway? We don't get the happy endings on the South Side."

For just a while he'd let himself believe that they did, though.

He lay there a little longer, watching them, then finally hauled Yevgeny off to his crib for as long as _that_ sleep lasted and ate the crumbs from Joey's tin of Pringles he left on the coffee table while he thumbed through the well-loved Victoria's Secret catalogue because he wanted to put off going back to bed for just a few more moments. He wanted a few more moments of imagining what it should have been like before facing the reality of what it was.

But at least in both, Ian was in his bed. That made it ten times better than what came before.

When he finally did get back in, stripped down to his boxers and lights out, he didn't leave any space between them anymore. He curled his body around Ian's and thought of all the things he wanted to tell him, about his day, about his life, and didn't say any of them.

What he did say was, "Maybe tomorrow will be better," and closed his eyes and lay there with his body pressed to Ian's for a long time before he went to sleep.

Different morning, same thing. He tried not to get his hopes up when Ian stumbled off to the bathroom because the moment he got back he burrowed under the covers and didn't come out again even when Mickey started getting dressed and started talking to him. At least he wasn't pissing the bed, he told himself. Small consolation.

He lay there in the bed with him, fully dressed, listening to the sounds of the house for what might have been hours, until someone banged on his bedroom door.

"What the fuck?" he said.

"You've got a visitor."

Of course he did, but he wasn't sorry he did this time. The room was starting to feel oppressive, no matter how much he tried to remind himself that it was _him_ and _Ian_ , and whatever they could get together was better than nothing.

Fiona Gallagher took one look at him and shook her head.

"You've gotta get out of this house," said Fiona. "Seriously, Mickey."

"The hell I do."

"I got this. Go _do_ something."

"I got nothing to do more important than this."

"Ian doesn't need you going nuts because you haven't left his bedside in days," said Fiona, but that wasn't true. When Ian told him to fuck off, Mickey fucked off. He just never went far. "Let me spend some time with my god damn brother, Milkovich."

"Fine," he said. "I'll go check on business. I'll be back in an hour." He rounded the bed, leaned down, and kissed Ian's forehead and he didn't let himself care that Fiona was there to see it. "You hear that? I'll be back."

Ian mumbled something inaudible, and Mickey stood there an extra few moments just to make sure he wasn't going to say anything else.

"An hour," he said to Fiona again, and grabbed his coat and slammed the front door on his way out, just to make a statement. He almost didn't go, almost sat there on the front step and waited it out, but he refused to be that much of a pussy. Especially when someone might be watching.

Then he almost kept walking right by the Alibi, walking around the neighborhood just to keep moving, just to keep walking, just to keep feeling like he was doing something. But fuck, he could use a drink, and he was practically staff at the place. He could help himself.

"Honeymoon finally over?" said Kevin when he walked in and parked himself at the bar without even looking at anyone.

"What?"

"Haven't seen you in days," he said. "Figured you were, you know." He banged two fists together and grinned at him.

"I don't even know what that's supposed to be," said Mickey, mimicking the motion. "Do I need to get my own drink or what?"

"Fuck no," said Kevin. "You always overpour. You know what the profit margin is on one of these? Slim, my friend. Too slim."

"What the fuck do I care?" said Mickey. Except he did, because when Kevin was making money, he was making money. That was just simple hood economics. "What is it?"

"What's what?" said Kevin as he pushed over a beer.

"The profit margin?"

"The fuck should I know?" said Kevin. "Jesus, are you my accountant now?"

"Maybe I'm thinking about getting into the business."

"You're already up in my business enough already," said Kevin. "Speaking of which, you going upstairs to check on things?"

"No," said Mickey. "Maybe later. Should I? Svetlana says everything's good."

"She in charge now?" said Kevin. "Is that how it is?"

"I think she always was," said Mickey. Just like that, half the beer was already gone. He barely remembered draining it.

"And that, my friends, is what they call marriage," said Kevin. "Even...you know, one like yours."

"One like mine?"

"Fake, or whatever," said Kevin. 

"Convenient," said Mickey, even though it was anything but. Kevin didn't challenge him on that, but he did raise an eyebrow. Mickey managed _not_ to look over his shoulder to see if anyone was staring at him or whispering behind his back. Or worse. If someone came at him, he'd know it long before they got there.

"You seen Fiona lately?"

"Fiona _Gallagher_?"

"Yeah, you know any other Fionas in the neighborhood?"

"I don't know. Probably," said Mickey. "The fuck would I know about Fiona?"

"Mickey."

"Jesus," he said, and there went the rest of her beer. If he didn't know what was going on with Ian, then it was because Fiona hadn't told them. And if Fiona hadn't told them, then Mickey wasn't going to be the one to tell them that right now she was at her brother's bedside. "I don't know. She's working."

"Yeah?" said Kevin. "That going all right?"

"Can't you ask your wife this shit?"

"You think my wife's doing anything but breastfeeding right now?" Mickey snorted. "Fiona's been, you know. Not going out much."

"She's got shit going on," said Mickey.

"We've all got shit going on," said Kevin. "Another?"

Mickey nodded his head, then shook it, then nodded it again. Too soon to go home but nowhere else he wanted to be.

"As long as you're sure," said Kevin, and Mickey drank this one in relatively silence, listening to some old fuck tell dirty jokes at the other end of the bar till he couldn't take it anymore and figured enough time had passed that he could leave.

He didn't go upstairs. Svetlana really did have that shit in hand, and what did he want to go see a bunch of naked chicks for anyway? He didn't need to pretend anymore.

Fiona was still in with Ian when he got there, so he forced himself to sit in front of the television even though he didn't give a fuck what was on, didn't even know what it was. He waited so nobody would say that he couldn't, not sure why he even gave a fuck anymore. He'd blown that all up already, hadn't he?

"It's expensive, right?" said Mickey as Fiona was finally getting ready to leave. "The drugs for Ian. They're expensive."

"We'll figure it out," said Fiona. "We always do."

"No, _I'll_ figure it out," said Mickey. "I'm just asking."

"With the new baby? Really?"

"Fuck the new baby."

"Look," said Fiona. "I get that you love my brother and that's great—"

"Hey, I never said I—"

"Shut it," said Fiona. "I get that you and Ian are together, but he's still part of _this_ family too. We'll work it out."

" _We'll_ work it out," said Mickey, and gestured between the two of them because he got that. He got family. "Okay?"

"Okay," said Fiona. "Fine. When the time comes, we'll sit down and talk about it and figure it out."

"That time is coming soon," said Mickey.

"I hope so," said Fiona. "You think so?"

"Better every day," said Mickey, about ten times as cheerful as he was actually feeling about it. "Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and find him cooking breakfast."

"Sure," said Fiona, and for just a second Mickey could almost convince himself that she believed that. "I got work, and if I lose this job I am _fucked_."

"Yeah, I know a little something about that," said Mickey. Fiona stopped and stared at him for a moment like somehow she'd forgotten he'd done a couple of stints in juvie. No, she didn't forget, she just never thought of herself as anything like him before. She still thought she was better than him. "We're fine here."

"Mickey—"

"We're fine," he said again. "He's fine. Go do what you gotta do."

"I have to," she said again, like he didn't understand that. He knew what it was like not to be able to do everything he fucking wanted to do. He knew way too much about that.

It was a long evening after she left, with not enough to fill it.

Sometimes it was easier when Ian was sleeping, because Mickey could touch him and hold him and he could convince himself that everything was the way it was supposed to be. He lay there behind him and breathed in and out slowly against his neck and counted the freckles that still lurked at his hairline. But sometimes it was better when he was awake, even though that meant Mickey couldn't pretend anymore, because monosyllables were more than nothing, and sometimes it was achingly good to hear Ian tell him to fuck off.

That was really kind of fucked up, and Mickey didn't care. It was what it was and they were what they were.

Yevgeny spit peas all over him when he tried to feed him his dinner, until Mickey gave in and took off his shirt and just gave him a fucking bottle. "Asshole," he told him, but then he kissed Yevgeny's head and he didn't smell like smushed peas, he just smelled like clean baby and that was kind of nice. "At least I know what to read you tonight."

Yevgeny rolled back against Ian's leg when Mickey placed him on the bed, and Ian moved but he didn't hurt him and he didn't push him away. So hey, Mickey left him there.

"I actually know this one," said Mickey. Not like he knew all the Disney shit that was everywhere but knew because once upon a time someone had read to him, too. "This was one of Mandy's favorites when we were kids. I used to stick shit under her mattress and then laugh when she didn't notice because no fucking way was she a princess."

"Asshole."

"Fuck you, you knew that when you met me," said Mickey. And what do you know, he was passing that down. "I should do that to you. Stick something under the mattress and see if _that_ gets you out of the bed." Ian muttered something and Mickey paused and then added, "Princess," and grinned to himself, even though he had no idea if Ian was smiling back.

"Go to sleep fast, Geno, because this one is pretty short," said Mickey. He was probably going to have to add stuff to it, but Mickey knew how to talk. He'd been practicing it his whole life.

"One day a young stranger arrived in the palace, claiming she was a princess. Or, you know, a prince. Same shit, right? Delicate little royalty and all that. The queen had a room made ready for her—okay, no, seriously, who thinks a queen has time to be doing that shit? Doesn't she have, like, a couple hundred people on staff who worry about things like strangers coming to the door? As if security would've let her anywhere close. Even in the olden days they had, like, knights and shit even if they didn't have alarm systems. And moats, they all had moats."

"Just tell the story," said Ian.

"Fine," said Mickey, "so the queen had a room made ready for her, but to see if she was actually a princess, she had a pea put in the bed and over it she put twenty mattresses and twenty featherdown covers. Twenty? Really? Mom never added that part, she always said it was, like, two." Maybe because it was hard to imagine anyone having twenty spare mattresses, even a queen. Or a ceiling high enough to pile them all up at once. "And was it a really hard pea? Like, a mummified pea? Because the peas we eat, it doesn't take a mattress to squish them. You could squish them with your tongue."

"Mickey."

"I know, I know, fairy tale," said Mickey. "So in the morning, when the girl woke up, she was aching all over and covered in bruises. Such a delicate and sensitive skin confirmed her claim to be a princess. You know what covered in bruises says to me? It says some asshole roughed her up in the night. But whatever, they were probably always really good at telling themselves stories to cover for what was right in front of them. Aren't we all?"

He looked over at Geno, who had his eyes closed and his fist in his face and definitely looked like Mickey hadn't put him to bed on a mattress of peas. Not that he could promise there _weren't_ a couple under the bed somewhere. And possibly still in Yevgeny's hair.

"So then the queen considered her to be a suitable bride for the young prince and heir. The end. Because what more qualification does she need to marry the prince than just _showing up_ and being a princess. It's not like he might want to decide for himself or anything. I changed my mind. This story is shit."

He looked at Ian and he knew that he would do anything for him, he knew he'd see him through this, but he really fucking wished that he could get _something_ back right now, because he needed it too. He needed someone there for him too. He needed someone he didn't have to ask, and that had always been Ian. Since always, even when he didn't fucking want it.

But right now, Ian had nothing to give. The fact that he was getting interaction at all was more than Ian was giving anyone else.

"All right," he said finally, and realized his hand was on Yevgeny's hair as he fell asleep. "Fine. There are worse things than this."

It would be nice if he didn't know that, though.

He touched Ian's shoulder like that could say all of the things he wasn't saying out loud, then picked Geno up in one arm and carried him off to his crib, sleeping like the dead. Kid ought to enjoy that while he could, before he learned to sleep with one eye open.

He watched some TV then, planted in one corner of the sofa with Iggy planted in the other and neither of them saying a single fucking word to one another. Nobody in this house had anything to say Mickey wanted to hear, except Ian. He ate a chicken pot pie and had about three beers and when he finally actually went to bed he heard Iggy put some porn on. At least he waited.

When Mickey woke up, it was still dark and Ian wasn't in bed. He was more confused than worried at first—Ian did have to get up to piss every once in a while, even if he did little else—but then he realized that Ian's side of the bed was cool. He still wasn't sure whether to be worried or excited, swinging himself out of bed quickly and searching the room, then the house.

By process of elimination, it wasn't hard to figure out he was in the bathroom. And that he'd been there for a while.

"Ian," he said, knocking lightly on the door. When there was no answer he knocked harder. "Ian! What the fuck?" When there was no answer to _that_ he started pounding on it. "Open this fucking door, Ian, I swear to god."

Ian didn't open the door, but when Mickey tried the knob he realized Ian hadn't locked it, hadn't barricaded the door; it swung open blocked only by a towel that someone had left on the floor. Ian was sitting on the toilet seat, body hunched over, crying.

"Jesus, Ian, you scared the shit out of me," he said, closing the door again behind himself with his foot even as he skidded forward and knelt down on the floor in front of him. "Fuck. Did you do anything? Did you take anything?"

Ian shook his head but he didn't look up, and tears were dripping off his nose. Mickey didn't know what the fuck to do with that. Touch him? Not touch him? Drag him back to bed, or somewhere else? In the end he just put his hands on his knees and squatted there for a long time while Ian dripped and sniffed and never even raised his head.

"Just tell me what's going on," he said. " _Please_."

"I don't know," said Ian. "I _can't_. I don't know."

"I'm trying to get it but I don't get it," said Mickey. "I don't get it, Ian. Why're you so low _now_ , when everything's so good? Is it me? Is it something I did?"

Thank fuck it was just him and Ian in here and everyone else was either sleeping or fucked off because he was crying now too and nobody but nobody was gonna see him like that. Nobody but Ian.

"I'm trying," he said again. "Just hang in there for me, all right?"

"I'm trying too," said Ian. "I just...can't."

"If I didn't come in here, were you going to do something?"

"I don't know," said Ian. "I don't know."

"Jesus," said Mickey, "I can't even." He ran his hands through his hair helplessly, all but clutching at it so he didn't say something to make all this shit even worse. "Look, I know I don't say shit like this, and I'm still not gonna, but I would never be better off without you. Okay? Never. You gotta know that, Ian. You gotta understand that."

"I'm trying. It's not that easy."

"It _is_ that easy," said Mickey. "After all the shit we've been through, it's the easiest thing ever."

"My head's not right," said Ian, which was the first time _he'd_ said that about himself and not just had someone else say it about him.

"So we'll fix that," said Mickey. "It'll be like it used to be."

"No it won't," said Ian. "It never will."

"Fine, so it won't be like it used to be," said Mickey, "because the whole fucking neighborhood knows we're queer now and we know what the fuck's going on with you. It won't be the same. It'll be better."

"Mickey—"

"No, look, I'm right," said Mickey. "I am fucking right about this and you just have to believe me because my head _is_ right. Okay? I can see the big picture here, and it's a great big portrait of us. You and me."

"I don't know what to do."

"We're doing it," said Mickey. "We're doing it right now. Just...just keep trying, and it'll get better again. It will. I mean, it'll still be shit, because it's still the South Side, but it'll be better."

It took a long time, but Ian finally nodded his head. Nodded his head and let Mickey help him to his feet, and then wrapped his arms around him and just stood there in the middle of the bathroom for ages.

"Come back to bed," Mickey said finally, and Ian did.

Mickey didn't get out of bed all morning, not when Mandy told him he had to make his own damn breakfast if he wasn't coming now, not when Svetlana told him to take care of his screaming child already, not when Joey told him they needed his faggot ass down at the Alibi. Ian was in bed so Mickey was in bed too, even though Ian had shaken off his touch every time he tried.

Ian was awake, Mickey'd been watching him all night so he knew the difference, but he was just lying there again like last night had never happened, and Mickey didn't know if that was better or worse. Probably worse.

But finally he actually rolled over so that he and Mickey were facing one another, even though he wasn't really looking at him.

"Monica was out of bed when she tried to off herself," said Ian. "She was getting better."

"Yeah, well you're not going to do that, are you." It wasn't a question. It _was not_ a question.

"I helped clean up her blood," Ian went on. "All over the kitchen. It got on everything."

"You saw that shit?"

"We all saw it," said Ian. "Fiona wouldn't let Carl or Debbie help."

"Fuck," said Mickey. "That's pretty fucked up."

"I'm pretty fucked up."

"We're all pretty fucked up," said Mickey.

That was all Ian had to say, but it was an actual conversation, sort of. It wasn't a great one, but it was _Ian_. 

"I'm going to get up now," he said finally, and kissed Ian's hair. "I got some shit to do."

Ian didn't say anything else, but Mickey knew he heard him.

Mickey never realized just how many deadly weapons he had in the house until he tried to collect them all and put them in a lockbox. Guns. Knives. Kitchen shears. Broken bottles. There weren't enough locks in the fucking world.

"It's not going to work you know," said Joey. "If your faggot boyfriend in there wants to off himself he can do it with anything."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"What?" Joey said it like he genuinely had no idea why Mickey would have a problem with that, because Mickey was surrounded by fucking idiots.

"Sounds to me like you're the one with the death wish," said Mickey. Joey dropped a switchblade into the box and scowled at him. "And lock your fucking bedroom door when you're not home or I'll padlock it for you."

"If Pops was here—"

"Don't you fucking talk about him around me."

Joey knew when to shut the fuck up, at least. 

Mickey did the best he could, but there was no substitute for just being there all the time, being _sure_. If Ian was so low he was going to hurt himself, he'd find a way to do it with whatever he found. So Mickey locked everything up that he could and made Mandy make lunch with a fucking butter knife and spatula, and he didn't leave the house. Not for anything. Not today.

He didn't try to pretend he wasn't watching him either, not even when Ian was awake, which was most of the time. Ian didn't say anything, and Mickey didn't try to make him, but he got the feeling maybe Ian actually had something to say for once. Something that was slowly making its way out.

He was reading too many fucking fairy tales if he was starting to think in metaphors like that.

Svetlana told him to give Yevgeny a bath, but fuck that, he could just be a little stinker tonight. Mickey was actually changing diapers, what the more did she want? Bathing him meant staying in another room for as long as it took and that wasn't on the table for today. Not today.

The longest he left was to change his sleeper, and grab the book off the bathroom floor where fuck knows who'd been reading it instead of the Victoria's Secret catalogue, which Mickey wasn't sure was better or worse. Depended on what they were doing with it, he guessed.

"The Four Friends and the King's Ring?" said Mickey as he thumbed through it after depositing Yevgeny on the bed. "That might be Ian's thing but you're too young for me to be reading you something that sounds like a porno. That's not the kind of _fairy tale_ I'm supposed to be telling you."

He made it past a few more pages before Yevgeny made an uncoordinated swat at the book and landed his little hand on one of the stories.

"You want to choose today, huh?" said Mickey, looking at the title. "The Mad King and his Faithful Wife. What, like we don't have enough crazy around here already?" Yevgeny curled his fingers like he was trying to grab hold of the page. "Fine, whatever, doesn't matter anyway."

He settled down on the bed and tried to get Yevgeny to lie down, but he kept squirming until Mickey finally just held him in his lap.

"What do you say, Mad King?" he said, shaking Ian's ankle before starting, more to lay his hands on him than to get his attention. "You want to hear your story in fairy tale form?"

Ian shrugged him off.

"Fine, whatever," said Mickey. "I'm gonna tell it anyway. Once upon a time, there was a king who'd been happy with his wife for many years." There was a sarcastic comment on the tip of Mickey's tongue but it didn't come out, because he wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe in years of happiness with someone. "Unexpectedly, he tired of her and ordered her to return and live with her parents. Because of jealousy or gossip or plain old idiocy or whatever. She begged him to change his mind, but nothing she did worked."

Well, that sounded more like the world he knew. Nothing fucking lasted forever, and people did crazy shit to hang on to what they had when it was all falling apart.

"So the king said that he would at least let her take the dearest and most precious thing she had. I guess shit like that is why rich fuckers have prenups, right? He's _letting_ her keep her own shit? Whatever. So the next morning—"

Yevgeny fussed and cried a little, and Mickey paused to move him a little in a kind of rocking motion to see if that settled him down. He wasn't hungry and his diaper was dry so he was just being a pain in the ass, was what it was.

"So the next morning—"

The baby cried some more, louder, and finally Mickey had to put the book down and take him out of the room and pace with him a little while until he settled down again. "Shhh, Geno, shhh," he said, glancing at Ian every time he passed the door. And when Yevgeny finally did settle down he walked some more just to be sure, so when he put him back down on the bed with Ian he was limp and barely fussy at all.

"So the next morning when the king woke up, he didn't know where he was. He blinked and looked around, but the only thing he knew for sure was that he was not at the palace. Wow, this kind of took a dark turn." But it was still realer than anything Mickey had read him before, fairy tale palace aside.

"Angry and freaked out, the king yelled and immediately the queen came running, because of course she hadn't gone anywhere. Of course it was her. 'Where am I? What did you do?' he asked her.

"'You said I could take with me the dearest and most precious thing I have," said Mickey, slowing down a little as the words started sinking in, "and nothing I have is more dear and precious to me than you are, so while you were asleep last night I ordered you brought to my parents' house with me. I could... I couldn't live without you."

Mickey didn't expect the way a fist closed around his heart at that, the way it hit him like a hammer to the chest. It was a fucking fairy tale and somehow for once it cut through all the bullshit and even though that would never in a million years actually happen, it made sense. Every word of it made sense to him.

Yevgeny was asleep and Ian was silent, facing away, and Mickey cried until he couldn't breathe anymore. Then he wiped his face on his sleeve and bit his lip and carried on, putting Geno in his crib and straightening the blankets and then sitting down on the edge of the bed again. Because what the fuck else could he do.

Ian fell asleep sometime after midnight and Mickey kept watching him, digging his fingernails into his thigh to force himself to stay awake all night again.

Because he couldn't live without him.

"I need your help," said Mickey when Mandy got home in the wee hours before dawn, quietly and staring at his feet because he hated saying those words, he hated them. But he couldn't keep this up indefinitely, and he was already losing the battle tonight.

"What is it?" said Mandy. "Is it Ian? The baby?"

"I just need some sleep," he said, running a hand through his hair. "And if I'm not watching Ian...maybe something'll happen. I don't know."

"You're scared Ian will hurt himself while you're sleeping."

"Yeah, maybe," said Mickey. "I don't know. Or if he needs something."

Mandy stared at him before answering, long enough for Mickey to want to ask her what the fuck she was looking at, if he had enough energy for that.

"Of course I will," she said. "I don't work till tonight."

"And don't let Iggy or Joey or fucking Kenyatta take over for you either."

"I'm not a fucking idiot," snapped Mandy. "Just leave your door open so I don't feel like I'm a total creep when I look in."

"Like I'm going to be doing anything but passing out," said Mickey. Feeling almost like he might do that on the spot, the way relief was flooding through him. "Uh. Thanks."

"He's my best friend," said Mandy, and yeah, maybe with all the shit that'd gone down, Mickey sometimes forgot that. "I'd do it anyway."

"Just take the fucking thanks," said Mickey, and he was pulling his shirt off before he even got in the bedroom, pants abandoned by the door before he crawled right into bed, putting an arm across Ian like holding him there could make everything okay.

When he woke up again, it was to the smell of bacon. "What the...?" he said, and checked to make sure Ian was still there and still breathing before climbing out of bed and stumbling out of the room. "Mandy?"

"I made you breakfast," she said, smiling at him from the kitchen. "Well, more like lunch. I figured you were probably taking shitty care of yourself."

"You made me fucking bacon?"

"And eggs," she said. "And toast."

"All I want's a fucking cup of coffee."

"And coffee," she said, pouring him a cup before he even got in the kitchen.

"No, seriously, what the fuck?"

Mandy didn't look at him as she flipped the eggs. "I called Lip."

"What the hell? What for?"

"Because Ian's his brother and you need a break, Mickey."

"I don't need a fucking break from Ian! I just needed some sleep! For fuck's sake, Mandy."

"Don't be such an asshole, Mickey, Ian's his _brother_. He wants to help."

"Yeah, well I got this."

"It's not about _you_ ," said Mandy. "Jesus, Mickey. The rest of us need him too."

"Well if you think I'm leaving, you're nuts," said Mickey, though he did sit down at the table and he did sip his coffee and fuck, he really was hungry. Like, really fucking hungry.

"When's the last time you fucking ate something?" said Mandy, but Mickey didn't answer. Mouth too full. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I eat," he said finally, reaching for his coffee again. He wasn't going to tell her how good this was. It was hard to even tell, at the pace he was shoveling it into his mouth. He fed Yevgeny and he knew he'd tried to feed Ian not that long ago. He didn't think he'd bothered with anything for himself at the same time.

"Whatever," said Mandy. "I should've made more, fatass."

Mickey gave her the finger and helped himself to some more eggs.

"He was, uh. All right?" he said finally.

"You think I wouldn't've told you if he wasn't?" says Mandy. "Fuck you, Mickey."

"What, I'm just asking," he mumbled instead of rising to the bait. "I was dead to the world."

"And snoring like a fucking chainsaw," said Mandy. 

"I fucking wasn't."

"You could've been," said Mandy. "You wouldn't have known it."

"Whatever," said Mickey, and had more toast. "So when is that Gallagher coming, anyway."

"Soon," said Mandy. "Whenever he gets here, I guess."

Mickey didn't really think about it until after he finished eating, maybe because his brain hadn't really kicked in yet, but Mandy had called Lip for him. Voluntarily. He should probably thank her for that, but instead he flicked her ear and went back into the bedroom.

"I'm opening the window, it stinks in here," he said, prying it open a crack and letting the frigid wind whip in for a couple of minutes. The slap in the face actually felt kind of good. "Your brother's coming. The genius, not the psycho."

"'S'not a psycho."

"I meant it as a compliment," said Mickey. "Look, just be okay for him, okay? Just...be okay."

"Mick..."

"Be okay, Ian," he said again, and they both knew it meant something different this time. He could tell from the way Ian looked back at him, something other than a blank, hopeless stare. 

He might not have thanked Mandy properly for talking to Lip—as if bringing Lip here actually deserved thanks—but he wasn't such an asshole he was going to leave her to make small talk with him when he heard him come in. He didn't go invite him or anything, but he did go to the bedroom door and say, "I know you know the way," and stepped aside so he could come in.

First thing Lip did was close the window. Mickey crossed his arms and leaned against the wall and didn't say anything, not when Lip leaned over the bed and murmured something to Ian, not when Ian murmured something back, not when Lip's hand hovered over Ian's head and pulled back again. Ian's eyes were closed. He didn't look okay.

Lip finally squatted next to the bed, head level with Ian's and hands folded in front of himself, elbows resting on his knees. He didn't try to touch him again.

"You're never going to be Monica," he said. "You hear me, Ian? Monica isn't the way she is because of her condition. She's the way she is because she's a selfish bitch. This isn't going to change you."

"You want a chair or something?" said Mickey.

"Nah, I'm good," said Lip, and sat down on his ass, wrapping his arms around his knees and settling in for a while. "Me and Ian are just gonna hang out for a while."

"M'fine," said Ian, which Lip could only half-heartedly smirk at.

"Sure you are," he said. Mickey didn't move from his perch but he did stare out the window. Stared at nothing, really, the brick of another house and some bare branches and the overcast sky. He should probably have left but he couldn't. He didn't. If something changed, for better or for worse, he had to be there. He was the only one who know things for what they really were. No one else had the experience, and Ian didn't have the perspective.

He let them talk, or rather he let Lip talk about fuck all, about school and whatever, and he didn't interrupt, not once. He figured he ought to be commended for his self-control, but no one was going to do that.

"Jesus, Mickey, go take a nap or something," Lip said finally. "We're fine."

"Nap? What am I, five?"

"S'okay," said Ian, and he opened his eyes and looked at him again and there it was, that hint of connection. Mickey didn't leave because Lip told him to and he didn't leave because Ian said it was okay, he left because he suddenly felt a lump in his throat and that was something he was going to deal with in private.

He lay down on the couch in front of the TV, because where else was he going to go, and the next thing he knew Mandy was shaking his arm.

"I gotta get some sleep before my next shift," she said when he finally opened his eyes and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater. "Come on, get up."

"I'm up, I'm up," he said. "Is, uh, is Lip still here?"

"He left ages ago," said Mandy.

"He left...what?" said Mickey. "Is Ian alone?"

"He's fine," said Mandy. "I hung out in there for a while. Read a magazine."

"I should've been there—"

"Stop," said Mandy, and just the way she said it, Mickey actually stopped. "You finally asked me to help, so I helped. You help him, and I help you. You needed some rest where you weren't all tied up in knots, idiot. But now I need to get some sleep too."

"I'm good," said Mickey, and stumbled to his feet, still in the process of waking up. "Uh. Thank you."

"God," said Mandy, rolling her eyes at him but also smiling. "Was that really so hard to say?"

Mickey scowled and waved her off with a flick of his wrist, cracking his neck before stalking into the bedroom again. That's what looking after Ian felt like these days, stalking. Not in the sense of being a creeper—though there was probably plenty of that, too—but in the sense that he had to approach carefully, for fear of spooking him. Same roots, different connotations.

"I hear you've been entertaining my sister."

"I'm a barrel of laughs, murmured Ian. He started to pull the covers up again but Mickey stopped him. "Take your pills first. Then you can do whatever."

Ian jerked away the first time, but when Mickey lay a hand on him again, he let him draw him up to a halfway sitting position.

"I hate these," mumbled Ian, but he didn't try to spit it out.

"Then get the fuck better already," said Mickey.

Ian just swallowed and drained the entire glass of water and closed his eyes, sinking into the pillow again. There was a damp patch that Mickey could guess were tears, shed while Mandy was letting him nap.

"I know you hate them," he said after a minute, to fill the silence. "I'd probably hate them too. But this shit works, all right?" Ian turned his head away from him. "It works. It has to. And then whatever, you'll be done with them and you'll be fine."

"Took them, didn't I?" said Ian.

That was really all Mickey could ask for

Svetlana came back with Yevgeny after supper. "You give Zhenya his bath," she said, dropping him in Mickey's arms before changing her clothes and heading right back out the door again. "I work."

"Right, okay," said Mickey, and held Yevgeny at arm's length from him and figured, okay, he could do this. "Come on, Geno, let's get wet."

It still gave him a chill to not be there with Ian, even just for as long as this took, but Ian was doing okay. Ian was sitting up, or at least he had been for a little while. And so what if that was his benchmark for okay these days. But he still was quick about the bath and wrapping a less-grubby Yevgeny in a towel and carrying him back into his bedroom. He put his diaper and sleeper on right there on the bed with Ian watching and maybe—almost—smiling.

He left Yevgeny there to rock unsteadily and grip futilely at the blankets, and picked the book up from under a discarded pair of underwear. He flipped through it for a few seconds, with one story immediately jumping out at him. He stopped dead and stared at it and then snorted and made himself comfortable.

"I don't even need a book for this one," said Mickey. "I fucking _live_ this one."

Even fairy tales weren't fairy tales. Nothing about their life was a storybook. Nothing about anyone's life was a storybook, as far as Mickey could tell, not even real life princes and princesses, and what the fuck did that even mean anymore anyway?

"So this one's called Sleeping Beauty," he told Yevgeny. "If you want a visual reference, just look at the lump under the blankets next to you." Ian actually snorted. "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away... Hey, maybe I should tell you that one next. It's not in this book, but I can just pretend it is and you'll never know the difference, right?"

"Ba ba ba," said Yevgeny, or something like it. Mickey was almost positive it was an actual syllable. He wasn't going to do some stupid shit like try to make him say dada or something because...that wasn't him. It still made his stomach turn a little. But he was saying something, anyway. Maybe he could even teach Ian how to talk again.

"So once upon a time or whatever," said Mickey, "the King and Queen had a little princess of their own, and they invited all the important people and the fairies to celebrate with them. But one fairy, the Black Fairy, didn't come because her invitation got lost. Sure it did. I've used that one before."

"You've heard that one before," said Ian.

"You're a funny man," said Mickey. "Anyway, all the fairies were giving the little princess blessings, except right before the last one did the Black Fairy burst in and cursed her instead, saying she was going to prick her finger on a spindle and die." He looked at Ian when he said die, then quickly back at the book again. "As curses go, it was kind of weird. The last good fairy used up her blessing to say that the curse wouldn't kill her, it would just put her to sleep for a hundred years."

"Sleep for a hundred years," echoed Ian softly.

"Don't you fucking dare," said Mickey. "So to keep his daughter safe, the king said that all the spindles in the kingdom should be destroyed and the princess should never leave the castle. What the fuck's a spindle anyway?" Ian shrugged. "So the princess—"

"Fucking Sleeping Beauty," said Ian, and Mickey almost stumbled over the next line because that was clear and engaged like he hadn't heard Ian sound in days.

"So Sleeping fucking Beauty, right?" he went on finally. "She grew up all beautiful and shit, because of all the virtues the fairies gave to her, but the one virtue they didn't have the chance to give to her because of the curse was a lack of curiosity. What. The. Fuck. That's a virtue? Even I can tell that's sexist as hell."

"Fairy tales aren't known for their great role models."

"You wouldn't know it based on the number of kids who go around dressed as princesses," said Mickey. "Thank fuck I've got a boy."

"Maybe Geno wants to be a princess too."

"Fuck you," said Mickey. "After reading him all this shit, that's the last thing he's gonna want to do."

"Guess we'll see," said Ian. "So what happens next?"

"Uh," said Mickey, and found his place again even though everybody knew how Sleeping Beauty went. It was just the details that changed. "So because she was curious she went exploring the castle and she found an old lady weaving in one of the rooms. Which is apparently just a normal thing in castles. Of course the old lady was the Black Fairy in disguise, and as soon as she got close enough she pricked the princess with the spindle she was using to weave."

"So that's what a spindle is."

"I still don't know what the fuck a spindle is," said Mickey. "So the curse kicks in, and Sleeping Beauty falls asleep for a hundred years, along with everyone and everything in the household, including the horses and the cats and the pigeons."

"The pigeons?"

"I'm just reading what it says!" said Mickey. "So a hundred years later a prince comes along hacking his way through the forest that grew up around the place and suddenly he found the castle. He wandered around seeing everyone was asleep and ignored them all until he found the princess. And she was so beautiful that her, he kissed, and suddenly everyone woke up again and they all partied. And I guess the moral of this story is it's more important to be beautiful and useless than, like, a person."

"And that's it?"

"And they all lived happily fucking after," finished Mickey, closing the book and tossing it on the floor. It hit a pair of discarded pants, making almost no sound.

"You know Geno's first word's gonna be fuck, right?"

"Yeah, and that's when I'll know for fucking sure that he's mine," said Mickey, supporting Yevgeny with one arm while he leaned in and touched Ian's face, like maybe this wasn't fucking real or something, he'd been spending too much time in fairy land and he was just seeing what he wanted to see. "So, what, are you okay now?"

"I feel like shit," said Ian, but his mouth curled up just a bit when he said it and it was pretty much the most beautiful fucking thing Mickey had ever seen. "Everything is shit."

"Yeah, everything _is_ shit," said Mickey, "but at least it's our shit. Together, all right?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, dumbass," said Mickey. "You want to get up and do something?"

"No," said Ian, rolling onto his back and blinking a few times before looking Mickey in the eye. "But maybe tomorrow." Mickey nodded his head and he couldn't look away. He just couldn't. 

"Good, because you're supposed to see the doctor tomorrow and your brother's going to break my kneecaps if I don't take you."

"Nah," said Ian. "Fiona would break your kneecaps. Carl would break your kneecaps. Lip would figure out something much worse."

"What, like electrocute my nuts?"

"Maybe," said Ian, and smiled that tiny bit again. "What are you going to do if I can't go?"

"Carry you," said Mickey. "I'd carry you in. Or make him come here again. He promised he wasn't going to take you away."

"He didn't promise," said Ian. 

"So you remember," said Mickey. "I wasn't sure you'd remember."

"He never promised."

"Yeah, well, close enough. They don't lock you up unless you're a danger to yourself or others, unless you _ask_ them to." Ian was quiet. "Ian, don't. Don't you...don't you fucking leave me."

"I don't _want_ to go anywhere," he said. "I just want this to stop."

"We'll make it stop," said Mickey, holding Yevgeny close so he could lean in and kiss Ian's hair. Then, when he tilted his head up, kiss Ian's lips, too. When Ian actually kissed him back, it might have been the best fucking thing Mickey had ever felt. Ever. "It's getting better. Just make it through another night."

"I can do that," said Ian. 

"Let me put Yevgeny down and I'll be here with you, all right? I'll be here all night."

"You don't have to—"

"Do not fucking tell me what I do and do not have to do," said Mickey. "I'm going to put the unconscious rugrat in his crib and then I am going to get back into this bed and I am going to stay here, with you, all fucking night. You understand me?"

Ian nodded, and Mickey didn't exactly _run_ to put Yevgeny down, but he did do it as fast as he could without risking waking him up again, and only stood there staring at his little face for a few moments before going back into his bedroom and curling his body around Ian's.

"I thought you were gonna leave me."

"That's because you're a fucking idiot," said Mickey. "Where else am I gonna go? You're my home."

"No matter what happens, I'll come back to you," said Ian. "I mean it."

"It's going to be okay," said Mickey, and he always clung to that, this whole time, but for the first time he really deep down believed it.

"Yeah, I think it is," agreed Ian. "So are you going to keep reading me stories even when I'm better?"

"Fuck you, reading you stories, I'm reading the baby stories."

"Whatever," said Ian. "You knew what you were doing."

"Yeah, well, apparently you did too," said Mickey, and yawned and pressed his forehead against Ian's shoulder. He really wanted to ask him if they could fuck, but that could wait a little longer.

"I've got an idea," said Ian. "How about I watch _you_ sleep for once?"

"Yeah, how about you do," said Mickey

When he closed his eyes he dreamed of princes coming back from a hundred year sleep and partying with all the good fairies and someone getting a prick. 

Huh, maybe fairy tales did come true.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure this doesn't need to be said, but don't take Ian and Mickey's actions and assumptions as legitimate medical advice. y'all. Or child care advice.


End file.
